Mr. Chaos frequents the downstairs space of Nana’s and Pappi’s home, but it’s not just one room. He has commandeered the whole floor. My refuge, exists on the second floor. I have halted his territorial expansion by declaring the upstairs as a space only for girls. This declaration works most of time, except for when Pappi also seeks asylum in one of the unoccupied bedrooms; therefore, the second floor is a sanctuary to all who need a cessation from Mr. Chaos’ antics.
Pappi is a very patient man, so when he ventures upstairs to lock himself in another room, you know Pappi has had enough. He had endured enough torture akin to some biblical prophet’s teachings on patience. Moses and his peoples journeyed 40 years before reaching the promise land. Pappi finished a long day of work and persisted through 40 minutes of Mr. Chaos’ relentless vexations. Pappi’s body had become Mr. Chaos’ punching bag, jungle gym, and a target for throwing projectiles at. Pappi had reinforced the message that his behaviors were absolute “no-no’s,” to no avail, and Nana already spent the whole day dealing with Mr. Chaos. At this point, she’s relieved that her grandson has someone else to prey on, so she doesn’t get involved.
One of Mr. Chaos’ favorite acts of physical aggression involves bopping Pappi in the genitalia. The first assault to Pappi’s gonads occurred one evening after a day of work. Unaware that his grandson was waiting behind the entrance door…
Bop! Goes the little fist. Straight to the groin.
“I know where your weak spot is,” Mr. Chaos says in a little sinister voice before running away, jubilantly screaming, into one of the other quarters of the house.
When Pappi makes the journey upstairs, it’s a sign to lock the doors because Mr. Chaos is coming. The locked door keeps Mr. Chaos from entering, blocking him from designating me as a target of his shenanigans, but this doesn’t stop his presence, within the sanctuary halls, from being disruptive.
On one occasion, while Pappi was holding up in the adjacent bedroom, I could hear Mr. Chaos laboriously trying to penetrate the locked room. I could hear the clinking sound of the locked door knob being turned. Back and forth. Back and forth. Repetitiously, twisting the knob as far as a locked knob turns with as much muscle a five year old can muster. Grunting. Snorting. Gritting his teeth, saying,
“If I could only get this door open…”
Back and forth. Back and forth. Puffing. Back and forth.
The moment Mr. Chaos realized that his efforts were fruitless, he kicked the door, protested,
“I hate this guy,” and stomped down the stairs.
Once downstairs Mr. Chaos was back on the prowl, searching for another victim to torment, Nana or his two year old sister. There wasn’t a long delay before hearing Nana yell in her intimitating authoritative tone,
“Leave your sister alone!”
For some reason, Nana’s approach, which was successful in paralyzing any defiant behavior me or my siblings were executing when we were children, did not have the same subduing affect on Mr. Chaos.
It may seem cruel for an auntie to not share her space with her nephew, or seem unfair because Mr. Chaos’ sister is known to hang out in my room. Well. I have tried. There was an instance when Mr. Chaos was quite pleasant, placid.
My bedroom door was open and Mr. Chaos was being a little sneaky creep; therefore, he entered my room without me noticing. Being incognito didn’t last too long because he spotted a YouTube thumbnail for a video of a knife wielding crab on my computer monitor.
“Aunt Cole! Can we watch the crab video?” he asked.
“You’re not supposed to be up here,” I said, but what the hell. I was curious about the video too.
So I played the video. For about 30 seconds, the length of the video clip, he was absorbed, in awe of a knife wielding rumble crab. We watched it again. For ruffly another 30 seconds he was glued. After the third time watching the video, he lost interest and was jumping on my bed. Once again I had to reinstate laws of the Sanctuary, and Mr. Chaos was ostracized from the second floor.